Leading The Blind
by Furious Angel
Summary: UPDATED. Madeleine is a more than pleasurable cure for the Marquis' illness, but he has more to show her than she imagined...
1. An Ample Cure

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N.B. _Very much a work in progress. There will be further chapters! _

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to the wonderful Doug Wright. 

"Regulate me, darling, raise me to your lips, two undernourished egos, full rotating hips…" ~ Massive Attack, 'Inertia Creeps'

The Marquis had often philosophised that, whilst one was in the realms of sickness, one also delved into a certain recess of pleasure. One wracked with fever, compared with one in the throes of physical ecstasy, and the similarities are clear. The skin is flushed, reddened spots appearing on or just above the cheekbones. The eyes are glassy, bright, the pupils dilated, the telltale sign of desire and anticipation. Perspiration bejewels various parts of the body, namely the curve of the forehead, the dip of the clavicle. On a less superficial level, the sounds that escape both throats are within the same family - repressed moans, sighs, and other such utterances. If one is in particularly ferocious pain, then the body will writhe, looking to stretch out the aches and strains. Consequently, it is assumed that said movements are indulged in during various physical deviancies.

And, that evening, de Sade was acutely aware of how savagely illness can grip a body. His head throbbed like the Devil's toothache, an expanding and contracting that tested the very elasticity of his being, his skull thumping with a constant, vibrant pulse that sent shivers through him. His skin was hot and dry to the touch, said dryness the main discomfort of a fever – to cool itself, the body sweats, but during a fever, the body sweats insufficiently, therefore an abnormally high body temperature is maintained. His limbs felt leaden, sluggish, his slim fingers tingling when they came into contact with any material. 

Despite his discomfort, the Marquis still sat at his desk, the small window just above it open as wide as it would go. A vigorous breeze had started to whip up, and it blustered thankfully through the gap, bringing with it a cool sheet of drizzle. His bed may have been more accommodating than the chair, but the Marquis had decided that this luxury was not worth forsaking. He coughed suddenly, his ribs heaving, the pain in his chest travelling in jolts down his entire skeleton.

He was impossibly miserable.

Until there came the timid knock on his door, and the familiar voice that followed it.

"Marquis? Marquis. They said you weren't well. I've…well I've brought you something. Don't know if it will help."

Illness or not, the Marquis still felt the warm, well-known leap in his pulse that centred gratefully between his thighs, only momentarily overcoming the throbbing in his head. He swivelled on his chair, peering over the top.

"Madeleine, my peach. You know that anything you bring me will aid my recovery. Your mere presence will be sure to lift my spirits, among many other things."

He heard her audible sigh.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, then I shan't come at all! You can't be that ill if your mind is still centred on…_that_."

__

Yes, Madeleine, and it always shall be, darling.

He saw her eyes peering through the hatch. Gods, those eyes. The Marquis was not a sentimental man but he could quite happily drown in those azure pools. He masked his knowing smile with a weak, rasping cough.

"Oh, no Madeleine. You do not understand the gravity of my illness. You have no idea how it feels to acknowledge every nerve in your body as it succumbs to the sickness. How my head aches, my child! Only the presence of one such as you can disperse the advances of all medicine…"

He halted when he heard the turn of the thick iron key in the door. He rose to his feet, his posture still proud despite his physical ailments.

He adored the way she kicked the heavy door shut when she had her hands full. The way she clucked her tongue when it didn't quite close, and she had to stoop down to place whatever items on the floor and push it herself. It was namely because it allowed de Sade full opportunity to gaze hungrily upon that creamy, ample cleavage of hers, and how tendrils of chestnut hair fell forward and grazed it. Neither was he romantic, but he had to admire Madeleine's beauty in the most poetic of manners. It was the uses of such beauty that would become crude and base. And that suited him just fine.

She picked up the tray and walked over to the desk, eyeing the Marquis warily the whole time. Only his head moved, and with an owlish turn, he acknowledged what was on said tray. A jug of water sat staunchly upon it, accompanied by a single white cloth. De Sade raised a quizzical eyebrow. He had at least expected some brandywine. 

Madeleine must have caught the momentary change in facial expression. 

"Disappointed?"

The Marquis' surprise melted away almost instantly, replaced by a catlike smile. He picked up the cloth, its texture slightly stiff due to over-starching, and rubbed a thumb gently over it.

"I must admit that I am. Cold compresses are all very useful, but I've often heard that certain divine liquids are much more effective in curing an old man's aches and pains."

  
"You've wine of your own, Marquis!"

"I wasn't talking about wine, Madeleine."

A sweet gasp of indignance was wrenched from Madeleine's throat, her eyes wide. Even she couldn't help herself, however, and she soon dissolved into giggles, raising a hand to daintily smother them. The Marquis watched her with lowered eyes, drinking in the sight of her. How he relished every essence, every facet of her!

Madeleine cleared her throat, quite recovered from her impromptu fit of laughter. She gingerly prised the cloth from the Marquis' hands, noticing a shiver caressing his body with cool fingers as she did so. She naively dismissed this as a symptom of the fever, whereas the Marquis was delighting in the gentle contact of her fingers against his own. He often wondered why she caused such combustion within him. He had taken others by force, why not this delightful little morsel? He could quite easily grab her thin wrists, press his body hard up against hers, eager, predatory hands wrenching at her skirts and underwear, clawing at the silken skin of her inner thighs, before thrusting inside her with all of his might, clapping a hand over her mouth to repress her cry of pain. He knew she was virginal, and this added to her infinite appeal. But he chose not to. This woman had a fragile hold over his heart, and the Marquis often contemplated if she was aware of this.

He was broken from his thoughts by Madeleine's kind-but-firm fingertips resting upon his jaw and turning him to face her.

"You're miles away."

She squeaked as his fingers encircled her wrist, the cold metal of his amber ring kissing the pale skin. The Marquis registered surprise in her eyes, and it excited him. He had never given her reason, but he saw the flicker of fear. His reputation preceded him. 

"I always am, darling. Miles from here. Now, let us distance ourselves from this desk." He gestured towards the shadowy cavern of his bed. "I can imagine that this would be far more accommodating."

"You know I won't."

de Sade feigned surprise.

"Honestly, Madeleine. I just proffer said approach for it is much easier for you to administer treatment. My wandering hands tremble far too much in this state to even attempt caressing your many delights."

Madeleine eyed the bed suspiciously. It was always an aesthetic obsession for her. It was so different compared to her humble bed! It assumed an almost celestial quality, draped in flimsy, expensive materials, all swooping and gathering to create the most illustrious effect. But, beneath all this gauze and netting lay an all-consuming darkness, endless and unbounded, punctuated only by the human skeleton that hung so eerily from one of the bedposts. 

The Marquis caught Madeleine's gaze. "Ah, yes, that. Frightens so many, yet it is what binds us together. What hangs there is now holding this glorious body of yours upright." He boldly allowed his fingers to trail along Madeleine's bared shoulder. He saw the goosebumps raise proudly along her skin. She suddenly jerked her head to look at him, attempting disapproval but failing miserably, full lips eventually twitching into a smile. 

"It's not what hold yours upright, I can tell you that now!"

The Marquis' fingers travelled lazily from her shoulder to her hand, delicately encasing her fingers in his own. His voice, whilst still knowing and jovial, adopted a more serious tone. This was rarely heard by Madeleine, and it never failed to set her off-guard.

"You trust me, don't you Madeleine? I do not intend to rupture any feminine barriers that you may place in front of me. I just want to truly enjoy the cure that you offer."

When the Marquis put it like that, Madeleine found it hard to say no.


	2. Close Your Eyes

Trust was never really an issue when it came to the Marquis, but it was an interesting prospect nonetheless. How these mortals worshipped it, revered it, then abused it when someone offered it to them. It was the main weapon of the Marquis' most despised people - hypocrites. Those that charmed, seduced, wooed others into thinking that they were terminally upstanding, constantly reassuring their prey that their best interests were at heart. The worst kind of hypocrites would pompously tell other people that they were wrong, that what they were doing was abominable, that they were little more than the scum of the Earth, before making that fragile, virginal trust malleable, and shrouding themselves in it when they indulge in the very same activities. 

De Sade liked nothing more than to pick out these people and shame them. It had become quite a past-time. Nothing more satisfying that seeing someone squirm at the revelation of their dissimulation, eyes darting everywhere, hands clasped so tightly in their laps that their knuckles appeared quite bloodless.

Nothing more satisfying, perhaps, apart from the idea of Madeleine, bound, anticipating his ministrations.

He was aware of every movement she made. How her wide eyes travelled from his bed, to him, and back to the bed again. How her tongue unselfconsciously darted quickly over her lips. How she shifted her weight from foot to foot. He felt her fingers move slightly in the confine of his hand, and he had to struggle to stop the ghost of a smile appear at his lips. 

"Oh, alright then. Set yourself up over there, and I'll be over in a tick."

The Marquis finally allowed himself that smirk, and in one swift movement he had lifted her cool fingers to his lips, brushing them gently.

"Madeleine, my sweet, I think your benevolent heart even outweighs the darling Abbe's."

"I wouldn't say that," she smiled, tugging her fingers away from him, "I don't think anyone's that kind-hearted!" 

de Sade felt his upper lip start to curl in natural contempt. As much as he adored the young Abbe, he acquired quite an unpleasant taste in his mouth upon the mention of his virtue. How many times had he looked at that boy, and realised what a tragic waste he was? Endless days tending the insane, providing them with infinitely more kindness than this apparent God of his did! Coulmier offered them sanctuary and kindness; Our Lord discarded them onto Earth with nothing more than a shrivelled mind and a useless body. 

The Abbe had often been his muse. Such a portrait of male beauty - all emerald pools of eyes and ebony hair - yet the Marquis knew that inside, he was constantly battling. Devoted to his cause, yet he was born a man, and therefore born with a man's needs. Madeleine, his dear, sweet Madeleine, was the object of Coulmier's lingering gaze, and possibly the subject of many late-night dreams. The Marquis had scoffed that the Abbe probably did not indulge in self-gratification. His God may consider it sinful. But the self-inflicted lashes when he felt that pulse focus embarrassingly between his thighs was virtuous, of course.

"You're slipping away from me again."

He was wrenched blissfully from his thought by Madeleine's voice and the delicious sensation of her hand upon his forehead, fingers dampened with the water she had poured onto the cloth.

"I am wracked with fever, darling, you cannot expect my full attention."

"I always seem to have your full attention, wanted or otherwise."

"Oh, Madeleine, how cruel you are! At all other times, my fever is not here." He clamped his hand over hers and lifted it away from his forehead, placing it upon his chest. "It burns brightly in here, and only for you, my lovely."

Madeleine shooed him away from her into the direction of the bed.

"We both know that's not true. You often confuse your heart with another organ anyway. A far more important organ, in your eyes!"

"I judge the importance of said implements on their usage and role in my functioning. Now, my heart is often considered non-existent by some, and as for the other organ in question - well, no one can doubt that it's very much in existence, and an essential part of my craft, can they?"

"So much for taking your _pen _in hand, Marquis."

He had no reply to that, aside from finally settling upon the bed. He admired her so much more than any other woman. Despite her humble background - he had always believed that if she were born into a rich society, she would succeed beyond anyone's expectations - Madeleine possessed intelligence and a self-assurance that was usually taught in far more lavish surroundings. She could quite easily fend him off with a few well-timed remarks, although he had nudged her guard a little on a few occasions. He didn't like to think of it as breaking them - there was so much more delight to be taken in the chase. The thrill of the chaste, yes, that was his Madeleine.

He ran his hands over the fine fabric of his bed cover. The thread count, so tangibly fine, made it delicious to the touch. His pillows, as plump and accommodating as his ones in La Coste, supported him perfectly. The fine mahogany wood of his bedposts gleamed in the dullest light, but he often found that the reflected their magnificence most impressively by candlelight. The way the flames stretched and writhed, like humans committed in that most base act, and their dancing shadows stroked the wood lovingly, a feast for the eyes.

Only one thing was missing from the bed. 

And that thing was approaching it.

The Marquis had often considered what Madeleine would be doing at approximately the same time that he would finally settle to bed. He knew she retired to bed fairly early - she was often up at the crack of dawn - yet she had informed him that from time to time she would just go to the Chapel and sit. He had initially displayed his dislike of the idea, but Madeleine had energetically assured him that its religious connotations meant very little to her; she merely appreciated the aesthetic splendour of it. He had heard that for such a humble asylum that it was quite remarkable - lavish stained glass windows, statues of various praying saints dotted around, the air heavy and intimate with incense. 

He also knew that Madeleine could not invite visitors into her bedchambers - not only because she had a virginal status, but the practicality issue too - she shared a room with her Mother, consequently could not indulge in any sexual gratification. He had never been so bold, or rather had not had the opportunity, as to ask her if she had experienced any real sexual pleasure. He knew that she was aware of it, and to be narcissistic, he had given her opportunity to experience it. She had often bestowed kisses upon him in exchange for stories, kisses that had initially been chaste, but he had later bargained into far more lustful exchanges. 

The mattress shifted when Madeleine placed herself next to him, cold compress in hand. The Marquis watched her, feeling slightly touched. Her face, at that moment in time, had such an earnest, do-good expression upon it that he felt a twinge close to guilt at his ideas. But it soon disappeared as she inched closer to him, biting lightly down on a full lower lip as she stretched to press the cloth against his forehead. A shiver ran gleefully down his spine as a rivulet of water trickled silently down his face, and Madeleine's finger quickly wiped it away. As she moved closer to do so, the swell of her bosom, clothed so wonderfully by that rough-materialed bodice, brushed his upper arm. The Marquis was a man of control, but he already began to feel that telltale throb, synchronised perfectly to his pulse. His hands lay limp - about the only thing that was - in his lap, but he did not intend for them to remain there.

"Would you mind undoing your cravat for me? It's just that I want to do your neck, and I don't want to spoil it."

The Marquis allowed his eyes to meet Madeleine's, temporarily glossing over that predatorial stare with a piteous gaze.

"Madeleine, I am an ill man. My fingers tremble like a newlywed. Come along, and be a dear. Your fingers are so impossibly able, and this is the only pure use I can think to put them to."

Madeleine clucked her tongue, and thrust the damp cloth into his hands.

"Honestly, the things I do for you."

"You have no idea."

Ignoring his last comment, Madeleine swiftly unknotted the cravat, yanking at the material to pull it free from his neck. Her fingers were immediately replaced with the cooling sensation of the cloth, the corner of it trailing down onto the Marquis' chest. Madeleine was no nurse, but she had tended to enough inmates to garner some sort of experience. She could easily say that she had been in such close contact with a man before, but it was all so innocent that she hadn't given it a second thought. Despite herself, she had to admit that it felt completely different now. She was fully aware that the Marquis desired her, and that made her blush a little and smile to herself, and now here she was, and he was completely submissive to her hands. How odd! But she liked the feeling of power, mild as it was. And she had to test the waters, now smooth waters, still as a hourglass, and see what tsunamis rose underneath. Her relationship with the Marquis felt like a balance constantly being tipped, a sword fight that always ended in a draw, a dance that was intercepted.

With this idea in mind, Madeleine slowly withdrew the cloth and frowned.

"I think it would be easier if I got behind you."

The Marquis hid his initial look of surprise.

"I've often practised that philosophy myself, child. Feel free to manipulate me as you will." He nudged her chin with his index finger. "I'm all yours."

Madeleine had to steady herself as she crawled over, and at one point overbalanced, leading her to grab his thigh in order to stop herself toppling off the bed. Her outburst of giggles hid his gasp of surprised arousal.

Settling behind the Marquis, kneeling demurely behind him, Madeleine wrapped her arms around him, one hand pulling away the material of his shirt and waistcoat; the other gently applying the cloth to his neck and upper chest. Madeleine continued to dab gingerly, yet with firm and assured hands. She peered around to converse.

"Does this make your fever feel any better?"

The Marquis allowed his head to loll back, looking at Madeleine with somewhat glazed eyes, the cool blue orbs seeming to see right through her.

"It'll do for now. Although I can think of a million better cures, which are instantly accessible."

He looked hungrily at her lips. Madeleine registered this, and feeling a swell of courage crash within her, and allowing the cloth to drop, her hands grasping the material of the Marquis' waistcoat, planted her mouth on his own. 

The Marquis could not articulate what he felt at that very moment. The softness of Madeleine's lips, and the exquisite pressure that she applied, reverberated through his body in a thousand ecstatic echoes. Her fingers, gripping so tightly to the silken material, pressed against his chest, and he feared that his heart would beat so furiously that it would break from its bony confine and leave him dying upon the point of rapture. The pulse in both organs was now quicker than ever.

He did not initially return her kiss - those that are stunned do not usually reciprocate - but the intense heat of his arousal quickly melted the frost of his shock and he allowed his lips to move against hers, an exquisite sensation of silk and moisture, and he delighted in the chastity of her kiss. She was earnest, but tentative, drinking in every feeling. He was fully aware that she was testing him, playing, experimenting, and he was also in the knowledge that she did not know how dangerous this was.

The Marquis reached behind him to allow his fingers to snake around the back of Madeleine's neck, pulling her closer. Tendrils of her hair got caught between them, but he did not care. He opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to shed light on this dark oblivion, but he wanted to see her. Her own eyes were closed, lashes casting two curves onto her cheeks. She was enjoying this. He boldly pried her lips open with his tongue, an approach he had attempted before, but not with such close physical proximity. He rejoiced in the enigmatic wetness of her mouth, this dark sanctuary, teasing her tongue out with his own, feeling pinpricks of pleasure across his flesh as he felt her submit to him. Madeleine was unaware of her own attractiveness, and the hold she had over men, and this showed. Her kiss, although fervent, still had a restraint. The Marquis, delighted as he was, could only indulge in so much persuasion, and he withdrew slowly, fingers entwining in her chestnut hair in order to pull her head back, lips and tongue feasting upon the porcelain skin of her neck.

__

The ultimate position of exposure is the showing of the throat…

He felt that vibrant rhythm beneath the vulnerable flesh, felt her moan vibrating through her. He felt her hand come down onto the back of his head, and he felt it hesitate, not knowing what to do, before pressing him down. The Marquis smiled. Madeleine may have been a virgin, but she certainly knew what she wanted.

And what she wanted at that time seemed to frighten her.

"M…Marquis…wait…"

She eased herself from him, and the Marquis would have been miserably disappointed if she didn't look so astoundingly beautiful. Awoken with the cries of passion, Madeleine embraced a wild splendour - her eyes veritably blazed, shards of sapphire glittering in those blue pools, her already full lips were swollen and moist, and her cheeks were endearingly flushed. She swallowed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Marquis, I…"

He watched her, still within close range, but with a certain amount of caution. Like a bird of prey watching its all-too-aware victim, he wanted to lull her into a certain sense of security. He knew that no amount of self-inflicted pleasure would satisfy the urge fired up in him now. He was impossibly aroused.

"You what, Madeleine? Don't tell me that you were going to apologise…you have done nothing wrong, darling, unless…" he hesitated, moving her in front of him, hands parting her curls at the nape of her neck, "…unless you are forewarning me that you do not wish to continue…"

He trailed his nails softly along the delicate protrusion of her clavicle, punctuating his words with an occasional scrape, drawing a luscious gasp from Madeleine's throat each time. He pressed his chest and belly hard against her back, his arousal made quite plain to her, and it was his turn to vocalise his pleasure as she arched herself against him in surprise.

"I want to…I just…"

"Feel that it's wrong?" He leant in to kiss her neck and felt her nod. "Tell me Madeleine, what is so wrong? In the privacy of my own room, I wish to initiate you - with your consent - to something that you will eventually have to understand. So why not start here, in my more than capable hands?"

He wound his arm around her waist, allowing his hand to move boldly downward to trace the shape of her thighs over her skirts. She twisted beneath him, alien to this contact.

"Tell me, Madeleine, has anyone ever come this close? Has anyone ever touched you in an intimate manner?"

"No…" She sounded as though she were struggling to form the words. 

"Not even your own fair hands?"

He let the fingers of one hand dance over her lips, grazing the sensitive skin, feeling her hot breath against them. Her voice was now little than a whisper, ragged with arousal.

"Marquis…what a question…"

He pressed himself harder against her.

"Tell me, Madeleine."

"Oh…y-yes. I have."

He pulled away from her suddenly, standing before her on the bed. He saw surprise and fear in her eyes, and it excited him beyond all comprehension. 

"You are aware of what pleasure physical acts can grant then, yes?"

She nodded, unsure of herself. 

"I want you to close your eyes for me, Madeleine."

She visibly stiffened, and the Marquis smiled.

"I don't know if I want to, Marquis…"

"I thought you said you trusted me."

The words hit her like poisoned darts. Her eyes were cast downward, and all of a sudden she appeared almost childlike, the red patches of passion on her skin and her tousled hair betraying her.

Holding the man's stare for an infinite moment, Madeleine closed her eyes.


	3. Every Fear hides a Wish

Power was a difficult balance to strike. The Marquis had a godforsaken raging battle within him. There sat Madeleine, so deliciously ripe for the taking. Madeleine, his one ally in Charenton, breathless, vulnerable, before him. De Sade felt a fire deep in the pit of his belly at the sight of her, flames licking at the smouldering ashes of his conscience, burning the thin haze of guilt that clouded his desires. He had felt a momentary stab of sharp resentment, a sense of deviance at what he truly wanted. He had to fight the urge to force her onto her back, to entwine his fingers in that luscious hair and crane her head back to worship her neck. 

But she had said that she trusted him. Madeleine, dear sweet Madeleine, had come into the Devil's own room and offered her soul. The Marquis made a mental note that this sacrifice would be soon rewarded. 

But time was slipping seductively away. Madeleine had kept her eyes closed, and the man couldn't help but admire her bravery. That was what he adored about her - that complete effervescence, that strong-willed mind of hers, her carefree attitude that veritably lifted moods around her. He suspected that even the most experienced women - many of which he had sampled back home in La Coste - would have started to peer inquisitively by now. But she remained, porcelain of skin and baited of breath.

The Marquis leant forward, taking one of Madeleine's hands in his. Her youthful skin had not yet succumbed to the ravages of manual work. Long, cool fingers, well-practiced in essential day to day jobs, and Madeleine was a remarkable seamstress. The Marquis recalled the days when he would furrow holes into his garments just for her to run that delicate needle through them.

"Such wondrous hands, Madeleine." 

He saw the expression on her face flicker from fearful anticipation to slight confusion. He smiled to himself, running his fingers along the pad of her palm, watching her bite gently, almost invisibly down on her lower lip. Her eyes still remained closed, lashes still grazing her cheeks, and the Marquis' eyes never left her as he placed her hand almost paternally back onto her lap and raised his finger to stroke leisurely at her temple. He felt a warm satisfaction bloom within him as she leant into his touch, actively seeking this soothing sensation, the gentleness of it almost stripping it of its sensuality. But it was the scrape of his nails, the metal caress of his amber ring that reminded Madeleine that this was far from a casual contact. 

De Sade's fingers trailed further back into Madeleine's hair, slipping effortlessly underneath the headscarf that loosely bound her curls. Her head tipped back ever so slightly, and the Marquis let out a breath that he didn't even realise he was holding. When he finally summoned his voice, it was barbed with dangerous excitement. 

"Now, Madeleine. I do not want to unduly shock you with any sudden actions. What I am about to do…" he paused, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric, lifting it from her head, "…is take away this trifling little garment." Madeleine allowed herself a small frown of indignation.

"Trifling? It's a mere issue of practi-"

"Sssh. I don't believe that conversation is an essential part of our practice, yet I do believe that sex without flirtation is merely rape..."

__

That did the trick mused the Marquis, watching the icy fingers of fear prod playfully at the girl. Her previously relaxed posture visibly stiffened, and he knew that she was fighting the urge to snap her eyes open. 

In one deft movement, de Sade had removed Madeleine's headscarf, lifting the weight of her hair as he held it before her. Slowly, teasingly, he caressed her cheek with the material, delighting in the contact. He ran it over her full lips, over her smooth brow, down over the curve of her neck and shoulders. He resisted the urge to travel lower, knowing that the achingly slow pace must be set in order to regain control. He throbbed painfully, but he had felt that plunging feel of fear at his resolve oozing from him. He was in charge of this situation, and Madeleine would accept this.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by Madeleine grasping eagerly at his controlling hand, pressing her lips against it, smothering an impatient cry. He yanked himself away as though burnt, positively glowing with pleasure at her need. For so long she had resisted him, and even before he had led her into the pleasures of the flesh, she was as good as begging.

"Tsk tsk, coquette," he murmured darkly, seductively, "patience is a virtue - perhaps the only one you should choose to embrace at this given moment."

He palpated her face, very much like a blind man, as though his hands were devouring every detail of her features, and with a seeming sleight of hand, he had slipped the headscarf over her eyes, blindfolding her. Madeleine could not resist a quiet shriek escaping her throat, and de Sade chuckled obscenely. Her hands automatically flew up to her face, and the Marquis quickly encapsulated both her slim wrists in one hand, forcing them back into her lap. 

"No, Madeleine. For this evening, I am effectively your tutor, and you will be a most obliging pupil, yes?"

Before she had any chance to protest, the Marquis leant smoothly forward and delivered a bruisingly savage kiss, the only real demonstration of sexual hunger he had displayed since her agreement. He still held Madeleine's hands in her skirts, his tongue demanding entry once more, swallowing any disagreements, rejoicing in her voracious and eager response. 

But, again, he pulled away, and the sight of Madeleine was enough to curb his reluctance and disappointment. Despite the fact that those eyes were covered, she still looked ravishing - all disheveled hair and swollen lips, oppressive corset proving all the more uncomfortable for her.

"Marquis - stop this teasing!"

With a predatorial stare that would have frightened Madeleine if she had the ability to see it, the Marquis grabbed Madeleine's arm and raised her to her feet, pressing his body firmly against hers to support her in her confusion. He felt a moan build deep within him as he felt her young, pliant form collide so deliciously with him, now knowing that Madeleine would be fully aware of what effect she had on him. He moved one hand to the small of her back, the other intertwining with her own trembling fingers.

"One thing you will learn, Madeleine, is that haste is not operative in our task. The art of physical pleasure is not served well by rash actions."

He stepped backward, taking Madeleine with him, inviting her into a perverse dance, remaining still, away from the bed. He knew that she would feel nervous now, for all surrounding solid surfaces were far out of reach. Those with impaired vision search for palpable and preferably hard materials to lean upon, to guide them. Madeleine only had him to rely on, having to pour those golden streams of trust entirely into him. 

"A disconcerting feeling, isn't it? How much do you wish to reach out and grab something, Madeleine, something solid and dependable?" He watched her intently; her belly still pressed against his. Her silence, whilst initially charming and satisfying, was now starting to curdle. He decided to prompt her.

"Hmm? Dearheart, I don't believe I have said anything quite so incendiary that you should fall into this well of silence…" he released her wrist, watching it flop listlessly to her side, before tracing the shape of her lips, allowing his fingertip to venture cautiously into her mouth, feeling her yielding tongue rub gingerly against him, mouth closing lightly around him as his slowly withdrew. 

"What is your greatest fear now, Madeleine? That I will leave you in the middle of this room, snatch your key and liberate myself, all the while revealing that the laundrymaid was prepared to submit entirely to physical disgrace?" He smiled wickedly.

"Marquis…don't leave me, will you?"

He felt a momentary pang of some barely recognisable emotion, soon replaced with the cherry-dark veil of disciplined torture.

"This will serve as a double lesson, Madeleine, aside from the glaringly obvious-" he pressed himself harder against her hip - "but also a humbling insight, if you'll pardon the pun, into your beloved Mother's world. Completely devoid of sight, _entirely_ vulnerable," he growled, "but not bartering her body with the Devil, of course." 

He paused, lowering his lips to her ear, the hot thunder of his whisper tickling her.

"Say if I were to step away from you now. What would you feel, if I forbade you to remove that scarf, and moved away?"

Her mouth quivered, fuelling the hunger inside him.

"Fear. I would feel scared."

"Every fear hides a wish, Madeleine…but what is it you want? What is it you want me to do?" Lazily, he allowed his hand to trail from her neck, to the swell of her breast, to the inward curve of her waist.

"Teach me."

"Then so be it."

With that, the Marquis wrenched himself away from her, leaving her stranded. He watched her lustily as the blood drained from her face, but frowned as her fingers began to poke at the makeshift blindfold.

"Ah ah ah…that will not do, my peach," he chided, "you will never learn _that_ way."

With a feline grace, he moved about the room, satisfied with her reluctant compliance. The heels of his elaborate shoes informed her of his vague whereabouts, but he figured that the cold panic, like chilled water, would stunt her senses. He could hear her breath coming quickly.

"Touch is the most obvious pleasurable sense, is it not? Even someone with as little experience as yourself will know this - it is engrained in us, it is practically innate, those that are tactile are those that seek the most pleasure in life." He paced slowly, the one-two of his footfall audible, nearing her. "I heartily agree with this, of course - we are blessed with a body full of nerves, each one anticipating _pain_ -" close enough to touch her now, he offered her wrist a quick pinch between the nails of thumb and forefinger, making her yelp and grasp at him, but he was too quick for her - "so it seems quite logical that we should touch. But there is something so basic about the pre-established sense, that it has to be developed. That is what I intend to teach you now, Madeleine."

Madeleine could hear him rattling and rummaging around in his writing desk, but only just over the blood thrumming in her ears, the same blood that had crept back up her cheeks, blazingly hot. She was almost embarrassed to admit that her body had started to betray her inhibitions. She recognised that familiar fluttering feeling in her stomach, that odd tightening, tingling feeling upon her breasts, and the hot liquid arousal that pooled deep within her.

The Marquis, now armed with his tools, placed the flat of his free palm between her shoulder blades and guided her back to her original position.

"To the bed, my beautiful young prospect. I have all of Heaven and Hell to show you."


	4. Bare your Soul

The Marquis may have been a man of control, and an experienced sensualist, but it had been a long time since he had felt so impossibly close to the edge. His head swam dizzily with lust, pulsepoints located all over his body, blood searing through him and pulsating in his ears. His eyes were glazed, but not quite enough to hide the predatory glint that shimmered menacingly. The garments that Madeleine had innocently loosened about him exposed the top of his chest, and the skin was flushed.

The only sound in the room was Madeleine's hasty, shallow breathing. His eyes narrowed as they feasted upon her, his pupils dilating like a drop of ink spreading in cool waters. His heartbeat slammed in his throat, but with gritted teeth and baited breath, he regained control. 

He recognised the fear about her. He knew that she was fighting inside - the cold posturing of fright, and the melting core of lust. As much as he adored the quivering and the cries, he could not do this to Madeleine. Yet.

The Marquis stood before her, back straight and noble.

"Madeleine." She jerked her unseeing head up. "Now, I want to guide you, so it seems sensible that I must forewarn you of what I am to do, yes?" He didn't expect her to answer.

"I know that this next prospect will be completely unfamiliar to you. I know that you are truthful with me about your private behaviour, so there is no need to assume false confidence in what I am asking you to do."

The meaning behind the Marquis' mannered and sculptured words was that if she did blush and become self-conscious, he would adore it. He would love to see that delicious mouth of hers form a perfect 'o' and those slender arms cross proudly over her body.

He moved before her, his lean frame looming over her. Her hands were encased in the folds of her skirt, hidden away. He prised her fingers from the fabric, holding them away from her body, outstretching her arms.

"The sacrificial Lamb," he murmured wickedly, leaning in intimately to breathe the scent of her hair and graze his lips against her own. Once he released her, Madeleine's arms flopped to her sides, and the Marquis covered her body with his own as his fingertips brushed against the back laces of her corset. Her sudden jolt pulled his mouth into a smirk.

"Madeleine. You must understand that it is not just your soul I want you to bare."

She inhaled sharply. The Marquis smiled. Surely she hadn't expected him to take her fully clothed?

"Lie down."

He saw her hesitate. The Marquis was savouring every moment, every one of his senses brimming with delectation. He could see the goosebumps break along her skin; could smell the icy fear that made her shiver; taste her sweet mouth on his own; feel the silken glide of fingers along porcelain flesh; hear her barely-restrained gasps and moans. 

Madeleine, with awkward caution, began to rise in order to turn. De Sade swooped down and took her wrists into his hands.

"No, no. The first rule of being a good teacher is to aid your pupils, is it not? You may be a gratifyingly _eager_ student but…" he tightened his grip, …"never forget who is in charge, Madeleine." 

She gasped as he lowered her onto her back, nestling his head in the curve between her neck and shoulder, one of his legs resting over her skirts and between her knees, nudging them apart. He was so enticingly close to her throat that he could hear every brewing groan. He elevated himself slightly, looking down at her, propping himself up on one elbow. Arching her back like a contented feline, Madeleine automatically tried to merge her body with his, head lolling in disappointment when he moved teasingly away.

"Now…onto your front."

He pushed himself slowly off her, rising thoughtfully to his feet. Madeleine moved as though in sleep, unfurling her arms invitingly above her head. The Marquis quirked an eyebrow. This was going far better than he had thought.

The contours of her clothed body fascinated him. Madeleine was not only fair of face, but delightfully attributed with a soft and voluptuous form. Of course, the Marquis up until now could only consult his fertile imagination, but his eyes had undressed her so many times that he was almost disappointed that he had rid himself of the surprise.

The mattress protested quietly when he knelt beside her. For a few moments, he merely stroked her neck and bare patch of skin that her corset exposed at the top of her back. Her skin felt like petals underneath his fingers, sending bolts of pleasure all through his body before focussing with painful rhythm between his thighs. After years of abstinence, the Marquis felt that sickening contrast between losing all control and being accommodated to isolation.

He was so lost in his thoughts that when de Sade cast his eyes back at Madeleine, her body had become lax with relaxation. His eyebrows knitted into a frown. He was not here to relax Madeleine. 

He yanked suddenly at her corset strings, causing her to cry out. The Marquis ran a tongue over his lips before planting a kiss at the nape of her neck.

"Surprise, my lovely, often goes hand in hand with pleasure." His breath was cool on the moist patch his mouth had left behind.

It was quiet enough in the room for the sound of the rough laces crossing over each other to be heard. The Marquis was deft, but leisurely, occasionally pulling hard on the strings. He wrapped them around his fingers as he went along, and by the time he had come to the bottom, his fingertips were scarlet. He winced when he unfurled them, hissing through his teeth. He gently pulled the bodice apart, finally showing the milky flesh of Madeleine's back. She was like a blank parchment, just aching to be turned into art. The Marquis momentarily reveled in the fact that Madeleine had not said a word. Normally, she was sharp and witty of tongue, but now…now she seemed muted. The Marquis snaked his hand about her neck, arching her back so that the corset fell away from her and the shell of her ear touched his lips.

"I have deprived you of one sense, Madeleine, and one sense alone. When one is deprived of a sense, as in the case of the delightful Madame LeClerc, the other four are heightened." The palm of his hand remained about her neck as his fingers traveled intently towards her mouth, parting her lips. "You have a brilliant tongue. I'm demanding that you use it."

The Marquis shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed, as Madeleine rubbed her tongue against his fingertips, the ridges of her teeth scraping gently over them. He probed her mouth ever further, penetrating and withdrawing from her, lips parted in wonder as this ardent pupil willingly succumbed.

He pulled away suddenly, feeling distracted. With fingers slick from her mouth, the Marquis clamped his hand over her shoulders and turned her onto her back. He drank in the look of shock on her face. Even with her eyes covered, the momentary change in pallor and of course the delightful slackness of that delectable mouth indicated that Madeleine had no idea what was coming next. Her arms were bent at the elbow, hands at either side of her head, resting on a bed of chestnut hair.

His fingers curled about the edges of her corset, the Marquis pulled it away from her, leaving her chest covered merely by the flimsy shirt she wore underneath. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl rumbled from his throat. Madeleine was breathing heavily, and with each breath the fabric would part further and further across her breasts. He could just see the shape of them beneath, rising and falling, rising and falling.

The Marquis was alarmed to see that he removed her shirt with trembling hands. Gods, this was his area of expertise, why on Earth was he shaking like a virgin? Perhaps it was because the thoughts that had seared through his mind with fiery intensity were now materialised. Whatever the reason, de Sade could not deny the beauty of what lay before him.

Madeleine, for all her purity, was blessed with the body of a seductress. Even beneath her skirts, which she still wore, the curve and fullness of her hips were visible, leading up to that irresistible dip into narrower waist. Her breasts, usually so tightly bound by that damned corset, were ample and ripe, and even more porcelain-skinned than the rest of her. 

"Madeleine…" he breathed, before noticing the blush creeping up her cheeks. He leant forward, kissing along her collarbone.

"Shame, Madeleine?" He watched, fascinated, as she nodded, and crossed her arms over her breasts. He felt a cold lump of horror form deep in his belly. 

"Please…no."

"No? You cannot expect me to teach you such things beneath the shadow of clothing. You would not expect a man to learn Latin without first knowing his mother tongue, would you?"

Her arms stayed crossed. The Marquis slithered off the bed and reached onto his desk where his 'tools' were placed. He pulled two cravats from the pile, placing a knee on either side of Madeleine, straddling her. She writhed underneath him, and de Sade groaned as her hips bumped into his hardness. 

"Do _not_ make this difficult for me, Madeleine," he muttered as he spread her arms out, lacing the silken material about the wooden bedposts. Straining against her binds, Madeleine thrashed suddenly, a glacial iceberg of fear rising above the hot, lustful sea. Her soft, young, pliant body collided with the Marquis, and it jolted it him back. He was not teaching - he was commanding, and he inwardly scolded himself. He lowered himself to her ear, the nails of his other hand running lovingly up and down her arms.

"Hush now. You know I will bring you no harm, Madeleine. But you must understand that you cannot afford to be ashamed. You will never progress. And of course, I will reward you for your compliance…"

He moved down her body, tongue darting to taste the salty flesh at the hollow of her throat, lips worshipping her. He felt her stiffen slightly as his mouth grazed the underside of her breasts, and a shudder coursed through her. The Marquis stole a glance at her face, and by the way her teeth had clamped down on a full lower lip, he could decipher that her shame had melted. The heat that bloomed within him scorched his insides, and he could barely contain the joy at the fact that he was the first person to ever see Madeleine disrobed, albeit partially, and taste her flesh. She tasted clean, fresh, and he breathed in her scent of bath herbs and clean laundry. His mouth caressed the delicate rise of her belly, and her hips bucked as he ran his tongue along the waistband of her skirts. 

In one swift movement, barely leaving her, the Marquis plucked a quill from his bedside table, next to which sat a half-full jug of wine. He placed his entire body over Madeleine's, dipping his head to feast upon her mouth. Her response was too languid for his liking, and with his free had he held her jaw in an impossible grasp, tongue demanding entry into her mouth. He swallowed her moans and traced the quill from her hips to her neck, deliberately hesitating over the sensitive skin of her nipples. The feather danced over her skin as though on a breeze, and Madeleine threw back her head and sighed. The Marquis' eyes glittered as he saw her fingers tighten on the binds.

Still tracing the quill over her, the Marquis sat up and dipped his fingers in the jug. Savouring the sight of Madeleine, he ran a wine-slick thumb over Madeleine's lips, watching as she blindly realised what he was doing.

"Do you recognise that taste, Madeleine?"

She nodded, her tongue moistening her lips. De Sade nodded satisfactorily as he picked up the jug, smiling devilishly as he splashed the cool liquid onto Madeleine's abdomen. She gasped richly, the muscles twitching beneath her skin. Quill in hand, the Marquis sucked gently at the skin of her belly, drinking up the excess wine. The warmth of her flesh enflamed him beyond all belief, and he ran a hand over the firm flesh, leaving her only with the liquid gem of her navel. 

"Not only are you my muse, but you provide me with an inkwell," he purred, dipping the quill into the small indentation, tracing watery scarlet lines over her belly. "Realise, Madeleine, that not only do I have the intention of _deflowering -_" with one free hand, he caressed her thighs over her skirts - "your body, but I intend to stain that virginal skin of yours with my latest work."

"Prepare to become my latest masterpiece, Mademoiselle…"


End file.
